Left 4 Dead: The Survivors from Mobile
by EstrangedHatter
Summary: This is a story of me and my chums trying to get by in a world where surviving has become a full-time job. Please enjoy. I plan on updating when I write more.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Left 4 Dead or Left 4 Dead 2. I also do not own the characters, humans and infected alike, in this story except for the ones which are obviously made up. Please enjoy and try not to hate too terribly bad. This is my first story.

A long sigh escaped my lips as I brushed my forearm across my forehead, wiping away the sweat threatening to fall into my eyes. Saying that it was hot would be an understatement. It felt like I was sitting on the surface of the sun. I had shaved my head, hoping to keep cool in the intense heat. It had helped, but not by much. I sighed once more, turning my attention to the ground below, hoping to get my mind off of the searing heat that was currently being projected from the shining orb above. I was positioned on the roof of an old drug store. "General Drug" was scrawled in large, black block letters on a yellow sign, which hung lazily from two chains attached to either end of the store. The building was pretty unattractive; the yellow paint faded by many years of the sun and rain. The only two windows were concealed by large, green shutters which looked as if someone had taken a hammer to them, battered and dry, it only added to the morbid atmosphere given off by the store. A rusted fire escape offered the only access to the roof from the outside. There was a trapdoor positioned in the very center of the roof, but it was locked and no amount of prying could get the stubborn portal open.

I scanned the ground below and curled my lip in disgust, the creatures shambling below sickening me to no end. The walking dead, or the zombie as it is commonly known, was a reality that years ago would have been unheard of. A virus of unknown origin had been released into the general populace, three short years ago. I had been fifteen then, a sophomore at a high school which will remain unnamed. I would rather save that story for another day, remembering that terrible event really bummed me out and there was no need to have any suicidal thoughts in a world where everything threatened to eat you. Now, let's move away from this depressing little moment and move on to the virus.

There were many theories as to where the virus originated from, ranging from logical evaluations to trippy fantasies. Many people believed it was the government's faults, saying they were running some sort of test on a new biological weapon when it got out of hand. The more patriotic citizens of this now dead country blamed it on "those damn foreigners" as they liked to call anyone not American. Eh, I found this highly unlikely. The environmentally friendly denizens of our world believed it was a dormant virus, brought to modern times due to the deforestation in the tropical rain forests. The more religious oriented folks thought it was a sign of the apocalypse. There are; of course, many more theories concerning where this virus came from, but these are the main ones and the more widely accepted in the ever shrinking survivor community. Personally, I did not give a shit where that goddamned virus came from. All I know is, it was here now and there is no changing it, something many people chose not to accept right away...their loss. Right now, the only thing that mattered was not being torn to shreds by the merciless horde of the walking damned, finding food and water, and watching you and your friends' backs.

My mind wandered away from the virus and towards the thought of my missing companion, Sam. Sam and I were separated a few hours ago when we had a run-in with a Tank. Now, you may be wondering what exactly a Tank is. A Tank is a type of Special Infected. There are many types of SI, each with a different appearance and special ability that made them extremely dangerous. I do not feel like explaining them all right now, but I will tell you what a Tank is. You see, when the "strain," as I call it, hit, it affected people differently. No one really knows why and I do not care to find out. Avoiding these deadly creatures was all I cared about when it came to these SI. Now, the Tank is a massive SI, capable of flinging cars and the like at you. The strain caused the infected being to gain large amounts of muscle mass, making it the strongest and largest SI out there. I do not think I have to tell you how dangerous a Tank is. That muscled monstrosity has killed many a survivor...and many a friend. The bastard tossed a car between me and Sam, separating us from each other and making us more vulnerable to the creature threatening to end our lives. Sam and I both ran in opposite directions, the Tank choosing to run after me, hoping somewhere in its tiny brain that I would be its next meal. A combination of parkour and sheer dumb luck allowed me to escape and live to fight or die another day.

I sighed once more and continued staring out onto the street below. Sam and I agreed that as soon as we reached this city that we would meet atop this decrepit drug store. I had been waiting for about an hour for her, hoping that she had not fallen victim to the zombie horde. I had lost too many a friend to the horde. Whether infected, or simply torn into pieces, they were no longer with me. I remembered each and every one of them and the events surrounding their untimely deaths, subconsciously kicking myself when I remembered how I could not save them. I turned my mind away from these morbid thoughts, choosing to turn my attention back to the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of my brown-haired chum. I was so distracted by the road that I was completely unaware of the danger approaching from behind me.


	2. Chapter 2

The first hint of trouble came when I heard a choked, salivated noise. It sounded like someone had a nasty cough. I perked my head up, immediately recognizing that all too familiar noise. "Shit!" I exclaimed, dread washing over me as I tried to make a grab for the .44 Magnum Desert Eagle on the ground next to me. My hand slapped the gun, inadvertently causing it to slide just out of my reach. I swore loudly when I felt a long, thick object wrap itself around my torso, restraining me and preventing me from moving. "Fuck!" I exclaimed, trying my best to free myself from the Smoker's tongued grip. All of my struggling was to no avail. The Smoker had caught me and I was now slowly being reeled in by the lanky SI. I had been caught and now I was screwed. Considering that I may never get another chance to do so, I guess this is a good time to tell you about my deadly captor.

Okay, the Smoker is one of the more dangerous types of Infected, simply because you usually did not notice it until it had caught you in its slimy grasp. The Smoker likes to lurk in the shadows, silently stalking its prey, and grabbing you with its tongue when you are most vulnerable. The skinny bastard then reels you in and kills you with a clumsy, but swift blow to the back of your head. Yeah, it sucks right? Well, on the plus side, at least the last thing you would see wouldn't be that ugly slag's face. The strain had caused the unfortunate being to mutate terribly. The creature's tongue has become long and whip-like, a bit protruding from its face. Its skin is now dark and boil ridden. These boils expel smoke whenever the Smoker is killed, giving off a foul, but non-lethal stench.

Man, speaking of foul, the Smoker's tongue smelled terrible. It literally smelled like the Smoker had been eating shit. Under normal circumstances, a smell like that would have caused me to vomit uncontrollably, but my airway had been almost completely cut off by that stupid lingua. _Man, this is the way to go, killed and eaten by this filthy slag. Haha, slag, what a fun word. I know it basically means slut, but I do so enjoy calling people, object, and zombies that. I suppose I had a good run. I mean, I did survive in this horrible reality for three years. It's too bad that I will never see Brenin and Sam again. _

My morbid thoughts were interrupted by the familiar grinding sound of a chainsaw. I managed to crane my neck towards the source of the noise, relief washing over me as I recognized an old face. There stood Sam, chainsaw in hand, her gaze darting from me, to the tongue, and to the Smoker. She ran forward and brought down the piece of lumberjacking equipment down on the mouth muscle, slicing it clean in two. I fell onto my back, pulling the remnants of the glossa from my torso, coughing like a motherfucker in the process. I breathed in deeply and looked up through watered eyes as Sam gave chase to the now fleeing Smoker. The Smoker is a cowardly Infected, running at the first sign of trouble. Its meal had been interrupted and half of its prized tongue lay motionless on the concreted roof. I watched in awe as Sam caught up with the Smoker, running the saw through the SI's gut. She then used the momentum of the stab and brought the power tool up, cleaving the bastard in two.

I know many of you may be skeptical as to how a teenaged female could run a chainsaw through what is basically a human carcass and chop said walking cadaver clean in half. One word: adrenaline. Adrenaline, or Epinephrine as it is also known, is a hormone produced by the human body. This hormone is capable of increasing your physical performance for a short time, often giving a person temporary super human-like strength. This, my dear readers, is how Sam managed to basically end the life of the Smoker who had been attempting to tongue me to death. Not as erotic as it sounds.

A large cloud of putrid smoke burst from the now dead creature's body. I was still coughing when Sam walked up to me, offering me a smile and a helping hand. I smiled back and graciously took my companion's extended palm. "You okay?" she asked as I stood up, dusting my shirt off when I managed to get up. She set the chainsaw down on the ground next to her and eyed me curiously. "Yeah, I think so," I said, pulling up my shirt. Minor bruising had been a result of the attack. I sighed; wincing as I gingerly touched the purplish black ring on my chest. I allowed my shirt to drop back down, turning my gaze to the one whom I owed my salvation to. "What took you so long?" I demanded, dusting my pants off. A look of shock and mock anger washed over her face. "Uh, I'm sorry a Hunter tried to disembowel me Japanese style," she said, still keeping that look of mock anger. You may be wondering why I said such a thing to the one person who kept me from becoming that Smoker's meal. This is just how Sam and I are, always joking in spite of almost dying. We laughed in the face of danger. Haha, not really, we ran away and then laughed in the face of danger. "Well, I guess I can forgive you this time, considering you went Texas Chainsaw Massacre on that Smoker," I said with a smirk. I walked over to my Desert Eagle and picked it up, placing it in the holster at my side. "Thanks," I said, looking over at Sam. She just smiled. "No problem," she replied. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and turned my gaze back to her. "Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

I looked over at Sam. She had dumped the chainsaw in a dumpster a few minutes ago, complaining about low fuel. She was now carrying her personal weapon of choice: the Spas-12. I had seen her kill many of zombie with this Italian-made shotgun. She was gripping the firearm with both hands, her hands turning white from the pressure. It's not that she was nervous. She was experienced. She knew how quickly a horde zombie or SI could show up and she wanted to be prepared. She never kept the safety on any type of weapon, saying it was stupid in times like these. I had to agree with her. I never kept the safety on any of my weapons on for good measure. Strapped to Sam's leg was an M9. I have seen her use that pistol with amazing accuracy, killing any zombie that got close enough to her. On the handle of this firearm were four vertical lines with a horizontal slash through them. This signified the number of Witches Sam has put down. I had been there for four of them. She had been alone with her first encounter with a Witch, as was I. I would honestly not like to get into that. It brings back a memory I so desperately wish I could forget.

"What's wrong with you?" Sam asked. We had known each other so long; she could read me like a book. "Oh, just wondering when the next time I will ever take a shower," I said, lying through my teeth. I knew she did not fall for it, but she also knew that when I did not want to talk about something, I wouldn't talk about it. She knew why Witches were bad for me and she never pressed the issue whenever one came into conversation. "Same here. I have had dried zombie blood in my hair and clothes for about a week now. I am long overdue for a shower. I really hope the next safe house has one," she said. I laughed a little, keeping my voice low for fear of attracting the horde. We were travelling along the roof tops, trying to completely avoid the ground. Sam and I hated fighting the horde. Three years of zombie killing could really tire you when you had to do it every day. Sure, it was fun at first, in a twisted way, but this fun soon came to end around the fourth zombie.

I stopped walking and raised my arm up. "What's up?" Sam asked. I simply pointed to the next roof. It was a bit lower than the current roof we were on and it was a good jump away. "Okay, I'll go first. Cover me," I said to her. She nodded in agreement. I slung my backpack off of my shoulder and heaved it to the other side. It landed with a dull thud, kicking up a small cloud of dust. "See you on the other side," I said, using a quote from one of her favorite video games. She just laughed a little. "You're such a loser," she said. "That's it Sam. We are fighting as soon as we get to that building," I said, chuckling slightly. I then nodded and turned my face in the direction of the building. It was an old building. Peeling red paint adorned the wall outside and I could only guess what kind of store it was. It looked like maybe some sort of thrift store, possibly a type of Goodwill. These were only guesses and I really do not care too much about it.

I started to back up slightly. I was dressed runner appropriate. Slim –fit, dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt made my outfit. A pair of black converse and a red hoodie completed my runner clothing. I rolled the sleeves of my hoodie down and started off at a run, jumping right at the edge. I flew through the air in what felt like slow motion. I soon landed on the opposite roof, tucking into a roll and landed expertly in a kneeled position next to my backpack. My ears perked up. What was that creaking noise? I looked down and examined the roof floor. "Shit" was all I had time to say before my backpack and I plunged through the flimsy roofing, landed on the floor inside accompanied by a cloud of dust and pieces of the roof. I coughed and looked around, the dust irritating my eyes and causing them to water uncontrollably. I wiped the tears from my eyes and pulled a black bandana from my pocket, tying it around my mouth and noise. I did not know what was in the roofing material and I was not too keen on inhaling it.

I looked around, checking my surroundings. I had long since pulled out my Desert Eagle. Now it was time to inspect the room. The spot in the roof let in enough sunlight to allow me to see that I was alone. I was in what appeared to be a storage room. A metallic shelf stood bolted to the back wall, stacked with miscellaneous items; cardboard boxes, toilet cleaner, bleach, etc. In the right corner of the room, a yellow mop bucket, complete with mop and shitty mop water, sat discarded. A stack of large storage crates could be seen on the left-hand wall. Normally I would check for supplies, but I need to find Sam and make sure to let her know that I am okay. I knew she would be finding a way down, finding a stealthy Tom Clancy way to sneak into the building.

I stood up, slinging my backpack over my shoulder and holding my Desert Eagle at the ready. I walked over to the door and slowly opened it, keeping one hand on the handle and one hand on my weapon. I surveyed the room with the quickness and efficiency one naturally develops after fighting zombies for three years. There were three infected in the room. Two were fighting in the corner and the last was throwing up on the wall. I narrowed my gaze. Okay, really now, that was just disgusting. I took aim at the zombie spewing its guts out and pulled the trigger. A hole soon appeared in the unfortunate beings head, spewing blood and grey matter all over the wall. The other two zombies looked over at me, one letting out a shrill cry. They soon broke out into a run, hoping to make me into their latest meal. I smirked and let out two more shots. The zombies soon joined their brother and were now collapsed in a heap on the floor. Suddenly, a growl caught my attention. I knew this sound all too well. "Oh shit," I said, kneeling down.

A Hunter was in the store with me. I could hear it growling. It let out a small scream every now and then. The feral noise reminded me of that of a Mountain Lion. I circled the room. Rows upon rows of movies and video games lined the six shelves placed evenly in the building. I was in a video store in turns out. I was nowhere near close to being right about it being a thrift store. Now was no time to dwell on it though. I needed to concentrate on getting out alive. I stood and turned around the shelf to the farthest right. Man, I had terrible luck. The Hunter was sitting there, staring at me from the far corner of the room. It jumped and I acted fast. I immediately jumped sprung backwards my feet in front of me, the Hunter in the center. It was like time stood still. I fired two shots. One shot flew above the Hunter's head. The other made contact with the thing's forehead. The creature's head lolled backwards, it was dead. I landed on my back and slid a few inches, the Hunter landing on my legs. I kicked the SI off and quickly stood up, breathing heavily. I pulled the bandana off of my face and hastily stuffed into the back left pocket in my jeans. I walked up to the Hunter and emptied my last two rounds into its head. I needed to be sure. I dropped the now empty magazine onto the ground and pulled a fresh one from my left pocket. I loaded my weapon and looked around, waiting for Sam.

My friend appeared moments later, crawling into a window. I told you. Tom Clancy style all of the way. She observed the scene around her and saw the dead Hunter at my feet. She arched a brow. "Ha, it looks like I don't need to save you all of the time after all. I made a face. "Haha, very funny," I said sarcastically. She just laughed and walked around the store. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. I rushed over to her, gun at the ready. "What?" I demanded. She turned to me and shoved a game case into my face. _Modern Warfare 2_ was scrawled on the box along with an unknown soldier. "You're kidding right?" I asked in disbelief. "I assure you I am not," she said, hastily stuffing the game into her backpack. I laughed. Hey, sometimes we got lucky and ran into an Xbox 360 whenever we reached a safe house and it was nice to have a game you wanted. All we ever had was _Halo_ _3 _and it was my personal opinion that _Hallo 3 _sucked. I looked around the room and noticed a game that caught my eye. "Hey now! Look what I found!" I exclaimed. Sam eyed me curiously. I picked up a copy of the amazing game known as _Jet Set Radio Future_. My and Sam's smiles widened as I eagerly stuffed the video game into my pack. Sam and I loved this game. Our mood darkened considerably when we walked outside. It was going to rain soon, the sun was going down, and that was not good.

We were right about the rain. It came down in waves. Sam and I were absolutely miserable, the hoods of our jackets pulled tightly over our head. We stuck to the alleyways, trying to avoid the streets at all costs. There weren't many horde creatures around, but there were still enough for us to be wary. I stooped down and raised my hand in the air, using my armed arm to point towards a tall infected. Sam crouched down behind me, squinting in my general direction. I turned to her. "_Spitter,_" I mouthed. She simply nodded and raised her shotgun. I shook my head and pointed the safe house in this distance. She shrugged and stood up. Sam and I then took off, each heading in opposite directions. She towards the safe house and I ran towards the female SI.

Before I go any further with this, I will explain to you what a Spitter is. The Spitter is a tall infected with a potbelly and green skin. Her lower jaw is missing as a result of spitting mutated stomach acid. I have never personally come into contact with the lethal acid, but I have seen it burn the skin off of more than one unlucky son of a bitch. I vowed that if I were to ever be killed by any type of SI I would not want it to be a Spitter.

I watched as the Spitter turned to Sam, letting out a shrill cry. "Oi, slag!" I called to her. The Spitter turned right as I reached her. I could see her cocking her head back, ready to coat me with the nasty contents of her oversized stomach. I gave her no time to attack. I slammed the deadly end of the Desert Eagle into her gaping maw and pulled the trigger, blowing a hole through the back of her head, sending blood and brain particles spilling onto the sidewalk. She fell and I quickly hopped backwards, avoiding the pool of acid that burst from her stomach. I looked over at Sam, who had quickly dispatched the common infected roaming the area, and gave her a thumb up. She smiled and walked into the safe house, clearing it of any infected that had roamed inside. I sighed and walked towards the safe house, rubbing my eyes and enjoying the cold droplets of rain on my face.

I immediately stopped walking towards my desired destination, my ears perking up slightly. I could hear a low rumbling sound in the distance. I turned, raising my weapon. The ground had started shaking and the small water puddles on the ground had started to ripple. I strained my eyes to see in the dark. My worst fears were soon confirmed. There, racing towards me at a steady speed, was a Tank. Whether it was the same Tank from before or not did not matter. All I knew was, Sam was cornered in the safe house and I was not about to turn tail and run if she was in danger. I had to think. I suddenly had a disgusting idea and I hoped it worked.

I crouched down and slung the backpack off of my back, undoing the zipper and digging around for the jar inside. Relief washed over my face as my hand closed around the Mason jar. I pulled it out and zipped the bag up, replacing it on my shoulders. "Sam, close the door!" I called over my shoulder. Sam had wandered out of the house and she was now looking in wide-eyed shock at the approaching Tank. "What? You just want me to leave you out here?" she exclaimed. "Well obviously!" I yelled back at her. "Okay, no need to be rude about it!" she replied, slamming the door shut.

I turned towards the Tank, rotating the jar in my hand. Inside this jar was Boomer bile. Yeah, I would rather not discuss how I acquired this bile. I must say it was quite disgusting. I had to burn my favorite hoodie after that incident. I visibly shuddered upon recalling that gruesome moment. I snapped back to reality when the Tank let out a loud roar. I switched the jar to my right hand and my gun to my left. I raised the jar and took aim at the Tank. Boomer bile attracts the horde, causing the mindless drones to attack whatever was coated in the sickening substance. I was hoping the horde creatures would distract the Tank long enough for me and Sam to cut a quick escape through the alleyways.

When the Tank got close enough I took aim and heaved the jar at the rushing giant. The jar made contact with the behemoth, but bounced off and landed on the moist ground. I stood there in momentary shock. "You have got to be fucking kidding me….." I mumbled. "Lewis, run!" Sam called. I raised my head and turned, running towards the safe house. "Goddamn you Mason jars!" I yelled at the top of my lungs.

A shrill whistle pierced the night. The Tank stopped and looked around, trying to locate the source of the noise. Standing in the distance was what appeared to be a man with an RPG slung casually over his shoulder. The stranger chuckled and took aim. Needless to say, I about shit myself. "Shit! Sam, get down!" I yelled. I jumped to the ground, sliding a few centimeters on the wet cement. Sam ducked down in the refuge of the safe house walls. The stranger fired, shooting the rocket towards the Tank. The RPG made contact with the giant. The explosion was loud and pieces of gut and gore rained down from the sky. An oversized hand landed next to my head, almost crushing my cranium in. I stood up and turned towards the man. He had gotten closer, slinging the RPG over his strapped shoulder. I watched as he picked up my jar of Boomer bile, making a sound of disgust as he examined the contents. "You guys alright?" he called tossing the jar towards me. I caught it, immediately recognizing that voice. A stunned look crossed my face as the man approached, pulling off his hood, and grinning at me. "Hey man," he said. "Robbie?" I exclaimed.

I rushed over to him, hastily slamming the jar back into my pack and holstering my weapon. "Dude, I thought you died back in Salvation!" I said, shocked to see my old friend. He merely laughed, fingering the lupara in his hand. "Well, I managed to -" he started, but he was quickly cut off by me pulling him into a hug. I quickly released him. "Haha, sorry for the gayness, but you have to understand I thought you died," I said with a laugh. He laughed. "It's all good man," he said. "Lewis, who is that?" a voice called out. "Is that Sam?" he asked, a smile on his face. "Yeah dude," I said, a smile on my face. "Sweet. Is Brenin there too?" he asked. My smile quickly disappeared. I looked down to the ground. "Dude…" he said. "I'll tell you about it later," I responded. "Alright dude," he said.

Our reunion was immediately cut short by a most peculiar sound. It sounded as if an elephant was screaming. Robbie and I immediately recognized this noise each of us raising our weapons and looking around. There was a Charger very close to us.

Now, a Charger is very obnoxious and dangerous type of SI. The Charger looks like the Tank's little brother, except this guy does not host as big of a threat as the Tank does. The Charger is the same height as a Tank and only half as wide. He has yellow skin and one abnormally large arm. His other arm is small and useless; resembling what one would expect a crack fiend's arm to look like. These SI charged at their target, grabbing them and slamming them down into the ground until they died. Normally, if you have a buddy to help you out, you do not have to worry about becoming mush, but when the Charger hits a group of people, it causes the other non-targets to sprawl onto the ground, separating them from you.

"Do you see it?" I asked frantically. "No dude, but it is close," he said. "Watch it!" I exclaimed raising my weapon and firing off a shot at the approaching Charger. _"Five left," _I thought, subconsciously keeping track of my ammo. Robbie turned in the direction I fired and quickly held up his hands in defense, dropping his lupara. I was shocked. Robbie had grabbed the oversized arm of the Charger and he was grappling with the beast. "Dude, my gun!" he grunted. I nodded and grabbed the gun which had fallen on the ground, slamming it into his now outstretched hand. He quickly placed the sawed-off double barrel on the Charger's stomach and pulled the trigger. The Charger grunted and slowly started to slide towards the ground. Robbie shoved the carcass off of him and sighed loudly. "That was close man," he said. I quickly nodded in agreement. "Come on, we need to get to the safe house," I said. He nodded and made his way towards the safe house, me in tow.

We both stopped, a loud howl piercing the night air. "Shit!" I swore pushing Robbie forward, trying to hurry him into the safe house. He needed no persuasion. He broke out into a run with me following suit, my Desert Eagle in my hand. He managed to reach the safe house just as the horde appeared. No one knows exactly where that howl originates from, only that it means the horde is on his way. There are rumors of another type of SI simply known as the Screamer. Apparently its cry attracts the horde. I have never seen one myself, but I did not doubt they exist. Robbie soon made it into the safe house. I ran in and slammed the door shut, holstering my Desert Eagle and helping my friend move a desk in front of the door. The three of use stacked furniture upon furniture at the door, managing to barricade ourselves in quite successfully. We were safe for now.


End file.
